And He Waits
by writergirl8
Summary: "Look, sir. All I want is to marry your daughter. I've been trying for years, but due to reasons that she has quite thoroughly explained to me, I understand that it's not possible right now. Seriously, though. I'm trying. I can't promise you that it's going to happen soon- I'm not going to pressure Hermione into anything. But it will happen eventually."


He waits as patiently as he can.

He waits as cheerful people whiz by, speaking emphatically to each other. He waits as trains come and go, leaving only when enough passengers have crowded onto them. He waits as the timer on the clock announces the passage of time, causing Ron to wonder what it's going to be like when the hands are on different numbers.

Patience has never been a virtue that Ron Weasley has been able to proclaim he possesses, but he takes a stab at it nonetheless. To pass the time, he focuses on his hammering heart and sweaty palms. No matter how many times he swipes them across his jeans, he hasn't been able to calm himself down enough to stop sweating.

This is new, and enthralling, and there's a certain kind of sweet torture that comes from waiting in the train station, watching the people go by and wondering when your person is finally going to emerge. But there's also a sense of trepidation that Ron can feel in his veins; they have waited twenty-three years for this, and now that they're finally getting what they want, Ron doesn't quite know how to handle it.

Hermione's bushy hair and searching eyes appear exactly one hour and forty-two minutes after Ron has arrived at the train station. She's tugging her enormous trunk behind herself, and there's a large bar of chocolate in the other hand. Habitually, Hermione walks with her head down, her pace brisk, her stance without nonsense. But not today. Today, her eyes sift through the people in the crowd, categorically removing them from her vision until she finally spots Ron.

Immediately, her entire face lights up. Hermione lets out a small, excited screech before rushing closer to him, her trunk the only thing hindering her from rushing forward and throwing her arms around Ron. He can see the delirious happiness on her face as she gets closer, small tears starting to spring into her eyes. This is it. This is happening.

"Ron," she says when she's close enough to whisper it, and that's when it's his turn to rush forward and sweep her into his arms, fitting his lips to hers as immediately as he can. Hermione lets go of her trunk and laughs into his kiss, her gloved fingers curling around his shoulders as he holds onto her waist and lifts her into the air.

"Oh bloody hell," he says, setting Hermione down on the ground. Her face is pink with laughter and happiness. "Don't ever do that to me again. It was fucking awful."

"Language," Hermione chastises, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye as she says it. Ron knows that he should grab her trunk and lead her out of the train station, but he can't stop staring at her. "What? Something on my face?"

"Yeah," he says, nodding seriously. "Your nose."

Hermione rolls her eyes.

"Prat," she says affectionately.

"I love you," says Ron in return, and Hermione kisses him again, slowly this time.

"Maybe you're right," she sighs when she pulls back, her eyes still closed. "Leaving for eight months wasn't such a wonderful idea."

"It really, _really_ wasn't."

"I missed you," Hermione says sincerely. "And I'm glad I did the internship, but… Oh, why are you laughing, Ronald Weasley?"

"Because," he chuckles, "it only took twelve years of loving you and eight months of blue balls to get you to snog me in public."

For the first time, Hermione becomes aware of her surroundings. When she sees the swarms of people around them, her eyes instantly widen in guilt.

"Did we scar any children?" she asks, only half serious.

"Hell if I know," Ron shrugs. "But if there were any, at least we showed them what a true snog looks like."

Hermione hits him in the arm.

"That's not funny! How would you like it if our children saw two random people… _kissing_… in a train station?"

"We have no children."

"It's the thought that counts!"

"I'm just saying that I wouldn't be able to voice my feelings about our hypothetical children because they haven't been born yet."

"Well, just imagine what it will be like when we do have children and then put yourself in the place of the—"

"Okay, love," Ron pacifies, giving her a kiss on the top of her head. Hermione looks on indignantly as he grasps her trunk in one hand and entwines their fingers with the other. "So how was your trip?"

The London air is brisk as they emerge into daylight, but Hermione doesn't even break stride. She bounces alongside Ron and regales the tale of her long trip home, describing the people that she sat next to, the odd music that nobody knew the source of, and the strange incident of the rabbit ears. Protected from the biting weather by a warm coat, a blue hat and glove set—knitted by his mum, of course—and a hand to hold, Hermione instantly immerses herself in the storytelling. She's talkative enough that Ron can ignore the story and sink into the process of studying her face, eyes going over the features that he had traced over and over again in his memory.

"You aren't even listening to me, are you?" Hermione asks after Ron nearly bumps into a lamppost.

"I missed staring at you!" he complains in response, which makes Hermione giggle. "Anyways, we're almost there, and once we get there, I'm sure you'll have forgiven me."

"I'll strongly consider it," Hermione states authoritatively. "But no promises."

They spend the rest of the walk in a companionable silence, enjoying the bump of Hermione's shoulder against Ron's arm as they knock lightly against each other. There's something magical about walking through these streets with Hermione—he's traced this path many times before, but never with a hand in his. Even covered in ugly gray snow, London looks beautiful at the moment. The sky is blue, the sun is shining, and Hermione is _here_.

"Turn right," Ron instructs. "Yeah, just up there."

Hermione follows his lead as they turn down a side street and then turn right again. Ron takes out a key and twists it in a lock; the door opens with only a slightly groan. Unable to wait, Hermione peers around Ron, trying to see to the inside of the flat. The only sight available, however, is that of the wooden staircase that leads into the living room.

"Are you ready?" asks Ron, sensing the energy that is coming from her.

Hermione shakes her head.

"No! No. Yes? I don't know. You've owled me a million pictures of it, but it's just very odd to come home to a place that I've never been before."

"Follow up question."

"Hmm?"

"Can I carry you over the threshold?"

Hermione laughs.

"We're not married yet."

"But this is our first place together! Both our names are on the lease. I think I should carry you over the threshold."

Hermione dithers on this.

"Oh, alright," she decides. Ron cheers. "Just as long as you use your arms and not _wingardium leviosa_."

"Any other day and the thought might have crossed my mind, but not today," Ron admits, lifting Hermione's trunk and placing it at the bottom of the stairs. When he turns around, she's still standing in the doorway, framed by the bright sun.

"Why not?"

"Because," Ron says, getting closer. "Any excuse that I can use to establish physical contact is good enough for me." His voice gets lower. "I just want to touch you."

Her laughter turns into a yelp of surprise as he easily lifts her into his arms.

"Ready to come home?" he asks seriously.

"I'm already home," Hermione reminds him. "Home is people. Home is you."

"Okay." Ron ducks his head into agreement. "Ready to go into the flat in which we will proceed to shag? Ready for the place that we're going to come to at the end of each workday? Ready for the place that we're gonna cook every meal that is in our foreseeable future?"

"Aren't we having dinner at your mum's tonight?"

"Be quiet, you incorrigible woman. I'm trying to be romantic."

Hermione stops smiling and adopts a serious expression.

"I'm sorry. I'll be very careful to swoon."

"Ach, it's too late. Get over the damn threshold already."

He walks them into the flat and kicks the door shut with his foot, then carries Hermione all the way up the stairs, until they're standing in their living room. Hermione is looking at all the furniture that she had selected as best she could, finally placed in her home. Ron is staring anxiously at Hermione, refusing to set her down until he gets a reaction out of her.

"Wow," she says finally. "This is it. This is exactly how I imagined it."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely, yes."

Ron sets her down, preening slightly.

"So I did good?"

Hermione stands on her tiptoes so she can grasp his chin and bring his lips to hers.

"You did good." They kiss slowly; achingly. "Mmm. How long until we have to go to your mum's?"

Ron checks his watch.

"Two hours."

"Alright." Hermione unzips her jacket and shimmies out of it. It lands on the floor with a _thud_, but she doesn't pay it any mind, instead going to grasp the bottom of her shirt. "Come on then, Mr. Weasley. Let's get to it."

(OOO)

"So how was it _really_?"

Ginny has pulled Hermione to the side and is looking at her imploringly. Ron can see the befuddled look on Hermione's face from where he is seated in an armchair by the fire, half holding a conversation with Harry, half focusing on their significant others.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your internship," Ginny says, nudging her arm vigorously. Hermione winces—she's still not used to the way Ginny punches due to spending most of her life around boys.

"I said that it was good, Ginny."

"Okay, fine, but you only came back _once _in all eight months. We barely heard anything at Christmas. And Ron only got to visit once a month, so he wasn't much help."

"It was hard," Hermione admits, voice getting slightly smaller. "I knew that I wouldn't be able to stay if I came back to much. I just… made a choice."

"A choice to leave us," Ginny says flatly, but in a moment, her good-natured smile is back. "Sorry. We all just… really missed you."

"I missed you too," says Hermione, voice soft and persuasive. "But, really, Ginny. It was a phenomenal opportunity and I'm just glad that I've got it under my belt."

"And you're glad to be back?" Ginny asks, watching Hermione closely. Hermione glances over at Ron, then smiles once he sees him looking at her. The tips of his ears turn red with embarrassment from being caught, but Hermione just tilts her head to the side and shakes her head slowly.

"Of course I am. Life can… _start_ now."

Ron is so busy smiling goofily at Hermione's answer that he forgets to pretend to listen to Harry's story about work. Harry realizes this when he's almost all the way to the end, letting out a frustrated groan when he sees the ardor on Ron's face.

"You weren't listening to me, were you?" he says, running a hand through his messy hair. He always does that when he wants to strangle somebody but is too polite to do so. Good ol' Harry.

"Not even a little bit, mate," Ron says happily. "Hermione's back."

"I know," Harry chuckles. "I hugged her and everything. Twice."

"But do you know what that means?" Ron asks, finally able to turn away from Ginny and Hermione, who are having an oddly enthusiastic conversation about a popular muggle book series that Hermione had recommended Ginny.

"You're finally going to get laid?"

Ron ignores the urge to bite back that he already has since Hermione got back. Twice.

"It means that we'll be able to set a fucking date, Harry bloody Potter."

Harry blinks.

"That's what's got you so excited?"

"Do you know how difficult it is to spend an _entire_ engagement in separate countries? Pretty effing difficult. And now we can just be married and everything is going to be as it should be. As it should have been, really. Years ago."

Harry just laughs.

"I'm not sure if you're supposed to go into the marriage thinking of it as an inevitability."

"But it's the good kind of inevitability," Ron says helpfully. "Like… fate and all that shit."

"Eloquently put," Hermione says, approaching her the two of them and settling down in the armchair next to Ron. When she reaches over to grab his hand, her diamond engagement ring glitters in the light of the fire.

"Slightly unorthodox-" Ginny starts.

"But I'll take what I can get," Hermione finishes for her. "Besides—your brother believes in soul mates more than I ever have."

"I believe in soul mates," Harry decides, kissing his wife on the temple.

Ginny raises her eyebrows, looking at him.

"You do?"

He shrugs and turns slightly red at the amount of attention that they are suddenly paying him.

"I like to believe that you were possessed by Voldemort for a reason. Maybe fate wanted to make us equals in that respect, so that we would both know what it feels like to be taken over like that. We help each other. That's gotta be fate, right?"

"Maybe," Hermione says doubtfully, taking a sip of her red wine. "But it could be that the circumstances of your lives psychologically changed who and what you are attracted to, and that you fell in love because of the mental comprehension that you and Ginny have mutual experiences that will allow you to be the most affectively functioning couple out of all the people that you could feel a physical attraction to."

Ron looks pointedly over at his little sister.

"This is why I'm the romantic."

The debate that transpires is interrupted by Mrs. Weasley, coming into the sitting room with a second wave of dessert. Ron carefully inspects one of the cream puffs, making sure that it will not turn him into a Canary, before popping it gleefully into his mouth and groaning at the flavor.

"He'll never love me more than he loves his mum's cooking," Hermione says, mock-regretfully, and Ron pauses as he lifts a second cream puff into his mouth.

"Maybe if you cooked like mum?" Ginny suggested. Ron's eyes grow wide in agreement. Hermione shoves him.

"Ron loves my cooking. Don't you?" she challenges.

"Sure," Harry answers for him. "All that time in the tent has shown me that _anything _you make can taste good as long as you have a recipe and proper ingredients."

Ron is about to make a joke in agreement when his mum squeezes into their intimate circle, wrapping her arms around Hermione in what has to be the fifth hug of the evening.

"So," she says, sitting back and, as a result, almost landing on Harry's lap. He dives out of the way, causing Ginny and Ron to dissolve into silent giggles as Hermione works hard to keep a straight face. "When are you two finally going to tie the knot?"

It's the third time that it's come up all night, and while Ron is only too happy to talk about getting married to Hermione, he has to admit that enough is enough. Yes, he's wanted this since he was a teenager, but what he wants right now is for people to stop asking about it. They'll get married when they bloody get married.

"Soon," Hermione says while Ron nods beside her. "Really, really soon."

He grasps her hand and squeezes it tight, trying to keep all of his happiness balled-up into a manageable lump.

"But no exact date?"

"No date," says Ron firmly. "We're going to start planning the wedding as soon as Hermione gets settled in her job."

"It should only be a few months before things start to cool down," Hermione says sensibly. "And then, hopefully, once I've gotten into the rhythm of things at work, I'll be able to get to the interesting stuff."

"If by 'I' you mean 'we,'" Ginny snorts. "Please, Hermione. There's no way you're going to be able to plan this wedding by yourself."

"And why not?" Hermione asks. "I'm extremely organized and I know exactly what I want. It shouldn't be a problem."

"Those are famous last words, Ms. Granger," Harry points out, wrapping his arm around Ginny.

"Everything is going to be fine," Hermione says brightly, a look of warning in her eyes as Harry opens his mouth.

As Ron nods in agreement, he can't help but wonder if Ginny has a point. But… no. No. This is Hermione Granger. They'll be married in six months, tops. At this point, he just wants the wedding to happen so that he can start introducing her as 'Hermione Weasley.' Everything else is just gravy.

(OOO)

They meet in the Ministry atrium at noon. By the time Ron gets there, Hermione is waiting for him. When she sees him, a cheery smile spreads across her face and she lifts her arm to wave him over. Ron moves as quickly as possible, placing a hand on Hermione's back and kissing her chastely when he reaches her.

"How has your day been going?" Hermione inquires, separating herself from Ron when she has deemed that their embrace has lasted too long to be proper. "Well, I hope."

"Yeah, it's been great," Ron says sincerely. "We had a great morning rush in the shop. Yours?"

"Paperwork," Hermione says, and that's enough for Ron. He chuckles sympathetically as he wraps her hand in his.

"Sorry 'bout that, love. Anything I can do to make it better?"

"You can take me to lunch in the ministry cafeteria," she teases.

"Consider it done," Ron says, leading her away from the atrium and towards the cafeteria.

She's been spending so much time at work that Ron feels like he barely gets to see her these days. Most days, Hermione doesn't even eat lunch at all. He's so proud of her for all that she has accomplished, but he also feels slightly abandoned. He spends most of his nights alone in their flat, eating reheated soup and reading Quidditch magazines.

It's actually not that different from how he had been living before Hermione had come home from her internship, but now it's different. Ron is waiting for her every night instead of being alone. He knows that she's going to come home eventually, and that she's only a few blocks away, and the knowledge makes him want to scream. In many ways, this is even more difficult.

But also it's awesome. He gets to fall asleep next to Hermione on most nights, and wake up when she throws a pillow at his head and announces that he's going to be late—which, really, only Hermione cares about. George usually doesn't notice. And on the nights when Hermione is home for dinner, they cook together and clean together, talking easily as they work. Life with Hermione is simple and wonderful and everything that Ron had wanted it to be. And, yeah, it would be great if Hermione had put a foot toward the wedding in all of the time that she's been back, but he can't really fault her for not doing it. It's not like Ron has made any decisions either.

Not that Hermione would agree with any of his choices, but still.

"Hermione!"

His fiancée turns around to see Ginny running towards her, hair flying behind her.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asks instantly.

"Luna is getting married!" Ginny huffs in response. "I just got the owl and then she asked me to tell you because we're both going to be bridesmaids and Harry said that you mentioned that you were going to be here so I ran all the way down to the cafeteria because I fucking love being a bridesmaid and the wedding is in four months and I was thinking a really nice green color to go with—"

"Wait, what?" Ron says, cutting her off. "Did you say four months?"

"Yeah. Anyways, green because Luna and Rolf met when they were in the—"

"Four months? They're getting married in four months?"

"Dammit Ron, I just said that!"

"_Before_ me and Hermione?"

Ginny stares at him oddly.

"Yes…"

"And they just got engaged?"

"Yes?"

"And they have _not _known each other since they were eleven?"

"No…"

He turns to Hermione.

"What the hell, woman?"

She gapes at him.

"Are you alright, Ron?"

Ginny just snorts.

"We still haven't gotten our act together and gotten married and Luna and Rolf _just _met."

"They've known each other for three years," reasons Hermione.

"They _just _met!" Ron emphasizes. "I mean, where's the fire? When we had known each other for three years, we weren't about to get married!"

"Hey, Hermione?" hedges Ginny. "I think this is about something bigger."

"Thanks, Ginny," Hermione says, rolling her eyes. "I'm so glad you're my sister-in-law so that I can have help figuring out your extremely complicated brother."

"Hermione, we were supposed to be the next wedding," Ron complains, ignoring this. "Harry and Ginny got there first, and that's fine, that's whatever. I let them have it. But now it's our turn. I'm not going to be the last two to get married! I earned a goddamn wedding, dammit."

Hermione looks completely floored.

"I didn't know it mattered so much to you, Ron. Being married isn't going to change anything, you know."

"Yes it is," he says, looking at her like it's obvious. "We're going to be _married_. That's the change."

"It does change some stuff," Ginny interjects. "Like-"

"You, go home," Hermione commands, pointing to the exit. "Stop creating a bigger mess. And you," she says, turning to Ron, "need to calm down. We will be married. Soon. Maybe not before Luna and Rolf, but it's going to happen. Just… these things take time. Life is crazy. Weddings are crazy."

"Yeah, but-"

"No but," Hermione says smoothly. She, tugs him into an alcove at the side of the hall, then pulls him close for a kiss. "Ron, I don't know what kind of flowers I want or what my dress is going to look like, but I do know that, no matter how many scenarios I think about my wedding in, you are _always _the groom. Okay?"

He smiles slowly as she brushes her thumb across his cheekbone.

"Yeah. Alright."

(OOO)

If he hears the sentence "not tonight, Ron," one more time, he is going to scream.

"Why not tonight?" Ron demands for the 80th time. "Just call the guy."

"I haven't had enough time to research what kind of tent I want."

"This bloke is a family friend. Just phone him and use whatever tent he provides for the event."

Hermione throws down her reading glasses and begins to gather her hair into a knot at the back of her head, just to have something to do with her hands.

"Ron, I'm busy tonight. I have a lot of work to do."

"You have a lot of work to do _every night_."

"I have a demanding job."

"Oh, and you're implying that I don't?"

She's startled, he can tell. Well, good. That had been his intent. Hermione has been putting this off ever since she got home, and Ron is starting to take it extremely personally.

"I… I… what?" splutters Hermione, her eyes popping at him. "Ron, what the hell are you talking about?"

"You think you're superior because you have a more rigorous job. Admit it."

"That's ridiculous, Ron!"

"That's why you won't marry me."

"_What_?"

"You think that all I do is run around, coming up with stupid ideas for toys for little kids. Admit it, Hermione!"

She stands up, bracing her hands against the desk and leaning towards him. When Ron looks away, Hermione grips his chin roughly in her hand and forced his eyes onto her.

"You'rethe one saying those words. Not me. I would _never _say those things about your job."

"But you would think them."

"No, I most certainly would not!"

"What am I, just a starter fiancé until you're able to find another fiancé that fits in better with your work schedule?"

"Ronald Weasley, will you stop being a complete arse and come back to the real world?" He refuses to look at her. "Fine!" shouts Hermione. "You want proof that you're being an idiot? I'm going to close my eyes and point to a week, and we will get married that Saturday."

She pushes her work papers aside to reveal the giant calendar that she keeps on top of her desk. Lunches, events, and project details are crammed into the white spaces of the calendar, leaving very little space unwritten on. Hermione looks at the day every morning before work, making sure that she has all of her thoughts organized.

"Name a number."

"What kind of number?"

"An imaginary number," Hermione deadpans. "Come on, Ron. Pick a number between… I don't know… four and twenty."

"Seventeen?"

Hermione closes her eyes and counts briefly, ticking something off on her fingers.

"Sixteen months from now is December."

She grasps the bottom of the calendar and flips to that month, then closes her eyes and places her finger on a week.

"Saturday, December… 18th. A week before Christmas. We can have our Honeymoon over the holiday. Are you happy now, Ronald Weasley?" He doesn't say anything. Hermione lifts up a pen, brandishes it at him with an exaggerated glare, and then pencils _Our wedding _into the calendar on her desk. "See. Permanent."

Immediately, his face changes. A grin splits across it as Ron lurches forward to kiss Hermione on the lips, then on the forehead.

"Right then. Thanks for your cooperation, love. Have a nice evening. Let me know if I can bring you some tea."

Hermione is still staring at him in shock when he closes the door to her study.

(OOO)

"This is going to be us soon."

She says it with such awe in her voice that Ron can't help the way his stomach flips at the thought of it. As Luna and Rolf dance across the floor, moving quiet gracelessly, despite Rolf's best efforts and Luna's natural elegance, he allows his mind to drift to a world in which his and Hermione's wedding.

"What song do you want for our first dance?"

The chair that Ron is seated at is placed slightly behind Hermione's, so he places his chin on her shoulder as she leans her head against his dress robes, looking stunning in the red dress robes that Luna had picked out. Hermione had been horrified when she found out that Luna had final say for the bridesmaid dresses, but Ron thinks that she's lovely in the outfit that Luna had selected.

"Hmmm." Hermione pretends to think about it, stroking her chin. Her face brightens. "Oh, I know! A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love."

"No!" Ron rejects immediately, eyes widening when he realizes how loud his words are. Hermione snorts out a laugh. "You know I hate that song."

"Right. That's why you've been singing it in the shower every single morning for a week."

"Hey, I said I hated it. I didn't say it wasn't catchy."

"Because that's an important distinction."

"Well, it is! And, besides, if you would join me in the shower, not only would we conserve water, but we would also reduce the singing."

"Who's to say that I wouldn't sing with you?"

"Because we would be talking instead, and neither of us talk in melody."

"I'm actually not convinced that Luna and Rolf _don't _do that," Hermione jokes. Ron shakes his head, letting his eyes close slightly as he registers the lazy way that Hermione is tracing her fingers across the skin on his hand.

"So," he says. "If this were our wedding, what would we do?"

Hermione looks around.

"Well, for starters, the cake wouldn't be in the shape of a Crumple Horned Snorkak."

"That's good. We're on the same page there."

"Meant to be," Hermione says drily.

"I know," Ron says, preening to make her laugh, and she does. Hermione laughs even when he says things that aren't very funny. Ron loves her even more for it. "So, cake?"

"Chocolate," says Hermione, catching on immediately. "With raspberry filling. Flowers?"

"Bloody hell, why are you asking me? I don't know."

"Ron."

"Tiger lilies," he sighs. "Merlin, how did you know I've got flowers picked out?"

"It must be because you're such a sensitive male," Hermione says, without a hint of sarcasm, Ron thinks. Probably. Okay, fine, she's smiling a bit funnily. Maybe she's thought of a joke.

"Nose down, you," he says, bopping it easily. "Honeymoon?"

"Australia," says Hermione. This time he knows that she's being sarcastic. "Just kidding. Maybe Greece."

"Somewhere with a bed," Ron suggests helpfully. "Hey. We're gonna have to come up with a wedding song at one point, you know."

"We have time," Hermione murmurs, snuggling deeper into their embrace. "We'll figure something out."

"Wanna dance?" Ron whispers in her ear.

"Sleep now," she mumbles, turning her head into him. "Dance later."

(OOO)

"We're not cancelling."

He's sitting on the couch, his nose still buried in a Quidditch magazine, a very purposeful choice on his part. Hermione is on the coffee table, trying to read his expression while he reads an article about the new Cleansweep. Their dinner is on the stove, bubbling cheerfully, and now all Ron has to do is figure out a way to get Hermione down the aisle short of using an unforgivable curse.

"Oh, but _Ron-_"

"Hermione, you put it into your calendar in pen," Ron says calmly.

"But that was before!"

"Before what? Before your fiancé realized that you will always put your career over him?"

Hermione sighs.

"Seriously, Ron. This opportunity is amazing. Too amazing to pass up. Please let me take it."

He peers at her for the first time, looking at the desperation in her eyes. Her hands are resting on his knees, and she's wearing a bit of makeup on her eyes, making them a lighter brown. Ron had been planning on remaining steadfast, but with one look at Hermione's face, he knows that he's not going to be able to deny her anything.

"You have to go to the conference that happens to be on the exact weekend that we were planning our wedding for."

"Yes!" she says seriously. "If there was anything I could do to change it, I would, but I just can't Ron. This is the only option."

He remembers the warm glow that he had felt when Hermione had gotten off the train a few months ago and tries, very hard, to call it to his countenance. She knows his insecurities, doesn't she? She must know that he's going to start thinking that she doesn't want to marry him.

"I don't understand why this is so hard for us," Ron admits, his body sagging slightly. Hermione lets out a breath that Ron hadn't noticed her holding. She gently tugs the Quidditch magazine from his grasp and crawls onto the couch with him, resting her head on his shoulder and rubbing her hand in comforting circles across his chest.

That, combined with the smell of her hair, is rather distracting.

"I don't think anything has ever been easy for us," she reminds him, nuzzling her nose into the soft fabric of his jumper. "But that's okay. It makes it better, I think. The payoff."

"If there ever is a payoff," Ron sighs.

"There will be," Hermione says fervently. "I know that this is my fault, Ron, and I'm so sorry. The thing is… I've been dreaming of marrying you since we were way too young to even consider getting married. And now that it's actually happening, there's a part of me that needs to complete a mental checklist of goals before I walk down an aisle."

He frowns.

"You don't think that I'm going to make you stop completing the stuff on your checklist, right? You must know me better than that."

She kisses the corner of his jaw, fluttering her lashes lightly against his skin to show her gratefulness for the fact that he would never, ever do that to her. Ron knows who she is. He wouldn't expect something like that from Hermione Granger.

"I know," she murmurs, smiling sweetly at him. "I know you wouldn't. But after marriage comes babies, and after babies comes this whole new life that I'm not ready for yet. And I know-" she says, holding up a hand when she sees Ron beginning to speak. "I know what you're going to say. We don't have to have kids as soon as we get married. I know that I don't have to be a stay-at-home mum. I know a million of other things that we could do when we have kids. But I also know that I'm not going to want to produce a child with you and then leave it at home to be cared for by somebody else. And before I commit to _that_, I need to do something. Something important. Something that makes me feel like I'm more than just a mum—that I actually contributed something to our society with the notoriety that we both gained from our teenage years."

"And the conference helps you do that?"

She nods, biting her lip.

"There's workshops and contacts and I would be giving a speech to discuss my views on specific laws that our society _needs _to abolish. It's important."

He sighs. Knocks his forehead against hers. Plays with the fingers that are resting on his kneecap. Hermione, for her part, waits patiently.

"Fine," Ron says abruptly. "But this wedding better be fucking _brilliant_, Hermione Granger."

There's a mischievous glint in Hermione's eyes when she says, "I'd never expect anything less out of it."

(OOO)

They've been to dinner at the Granger household enough times for Ron to know his place. As soon as Mrs. Granger opens the door, Hermione kisses her on the cheek and gives her father a hug. Then Mr. Granger gives Ron a curt nod before turning around and walking into the study, leaving Ron to trail in his wake.

"I'll see you when it's time for dinner," Hermione says, laughter in her voice.

The den is covered from head to foot with books, something that Ron considers to be an essential characteristic of any house in which his fiancee grew up. On the other hand, there's a certain claustrophobic, cluttered feeling that the room gives off, making Ron want to run out of it as soon as he gets inside. Still, Mr. Granger is pouring scotch, and Ron can sense that he's in the mood for a talk. So in spite of the anxiety that the room gives him, he seats himself at the chair across from the desk and accepts the glass that Hermione's father offers him.

There's a few moments of uncomfortable silence as the two of them stare at each other.

"I notice you haven't married my daughter yet," Mr. Granger says abruptly, smacking his lips from the drink.

"I noticed that too," says Ron, almost smacking himself on the forehead when he realizes that now is not the time to make jokes like this. "I'm sorry, sir."

"So are you planning on just leaving it that way forever?"

"To be fair, sir," Ron says meekly, "it's not actually me that's the problem."

"You're not the reason that the last wedding date was cancelled?"

"No, sir. That was Hermione."

"And the reason why the wedding date before that was cancelled?"

"Hermione, sir."

"And the reason why you two didn't get married before she left?"

"She didn't want us to be married and then have to be apart for eight months."

"Logical," Mr. Granger concedes.

"I believe that most of the decisions she makes are due to logic."

"Her mother is like that," says Mr. Granger, starting to smile. "Perhaps you need to remind her of what it's like to not be logical, hmmm, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron raises his eyebrows.

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Hermione hasn't married you yet because she wants to make sure that everything is perfect- the date, the time, the details. You've garnered that, I'm sure."

"Of course," Ron nods. "I've known her since we were eleven."

"Which is, of course, the only reason that I'm alright with the two of you getting married." Ron stares at him uncertainly. "It was a joke, Weasley."

"Right," Ron says. "Alright then."

"What I'm saying, Ron, is that Hermione is going to get in her own head about this until the both of you never want to think about having a wedding again. Don't build this wedding up until the expectations are too high for even her to reach. She can do anything she sets her mind to... but you know how brides get."

Ron's pretty sure that he still has bruises from Harry and Ginny's wedding. He knows.

"Look, sir." He leans forward to further get his point across. "All I want is to marry your daughter. I've been trying for _years_, but due to reasons that she has quite thoroughly explained to me, I understand that it's not possible right now. Seriously, though. I'm trying. We're setting another date soon."

"Good," Mr. Granger says, rising. He offers Ron a hand to shake. The whole thing is rather pompous, but Ron follows through anyway. This is his future father-in-law, after all.

"One more thing," Ron says, pulling his hand out of reach. "I can't promise you that it's going to happen soon- I'm not going to pressure Hermione into something that she thinks is going to constrict her. But I can promise that it will happen eventually."

He just doesn't know how long _eventually _will take.

(OOO)

It's the third Saturday of the month.

The third Saturday of the month is Ron's favorite Saturday of the month, because it's the one night that they _always _put aside to do something just for them. Granted, there are plenty of other Saturdays in the month during which they do brilliant things. Sometimes they stay in their flat and order takeout. Sometimes they go out with Harry and Ginny, but even since Ginny had James, it gets harder and harder to get the two of them out of the house. Sometimes they go to weddings, now that it seems every single one of their friends is getting married.

Everyone but them.

Their wedding is tentatively set for ten months from now, but Ron knows better than to get his hopes up. They've been down this path before. Several times. But there's always a conference for Hermione to speak at or another award for her to win. And even though she says that she's sorry every time, he knows that her success means the world to her. He wouldn't necessarily take it away from her. Ron would just be appreciative if there could be one hope left in him that didn't get dashed.

Date night, though. He always feels hopeful on date night. He feels hopeful when he looks over at Hermione's beautiful face, illuminated by the candle that is sitting at the center of the table. He feels hopeful when he sees her in a beautiful dress, and when she orders a second dessert for herself because she knows that he's not going to want to share. Hermione wants to spend her life with him. She does.

She probably loves date night as much as Ron does, because she's never cancelled a single one. Even at the peak of Hermione's busy season at work, she never stays late on the third Saturday of every month. To do so would be to blaspheme their tradition, and Ron knows that she can't have that.

He's been out with Harry all day, socializing James with other babies as per Ginny's request. They both know that she deserves as much rest as she can get, as James is the most colicky baby Ron's ever met, even though he's almost a toddler. He just likes attention. Likes it too much, actually. He's just like George and… and… and George. George. Nobody else. George.

Ron thunders up the stairs to the apartment, his boots hitting heavily on the stairs. He's pretty sure he smells like vomit, and maybe dirty diapers, and they're supposed to be leaving in fifteen minutes, but if he just hops into the shower and throws on some nice robes, he's sure that he can be ready in time. His hair will be a bit wet, but Hermione probably won't say anything about that because he'll grin at her unusually wide and dig his hands into his pockets if he needs to look extra vulnerable.

But when he gets to their bedroom, she's not ready to go out. She's not wearing a pretty dress, or putting her makeup on, or putting potion in her hair to make it fall smoothly around her face. She's sitting on their bed wearing gray sweatpants and one of Ron's black sweatshirts, and her hair is pulled back in a braid. There's something beautiful about a Hermione that isn't dressing for anybody but herself- she's always dressing for work, or to go out to dinners, or to visit with their family members. Ron likes it when she's barefoot and comfortable in their flat.

Not tonight, though. Tonight is date night.

"What are you doing?" he questions cheerily. "Date night! Get up! Get fancy!"

"Ron, I-" Hermione begins, but he cuts her off.

"No, 'Ron, I' nothing, Hermione! We're trying that new Mediterranean food place, remember? It's exciting! Food! Exciting!"

"Ron, I'm pregnant," Hermione says sharply, cutting him off.

He stares at her.

"You're what now?"

"I'm pregnant." Ron continues to stare, and Hermione begins to get frustrated. "You know, _with child_? Impregnated? Got a bun in the oven?"

To prove it, she reaches to the bedside table and shows him a letter from a Healer at St. Mungo's. She'd had a test taken? Why hadn't she told him?

He doesn't know how he feel, but he does know that he has questions. Lots and lots of questions. He decides to focus on the questions rather than the feelings.

"H-how?"

She rolls her eyes.

"Step one, fuck your partner. Step two, move in with partner. Step three, fuck partner even more than you did before you lived together. There is no step four."

"Shit, Hermione, would you stop swearing like that?"

"Pot calling kettle black," she hisses back.

"No!" Ron yells, firing up immediately. "We're not doing this right now, okay? This isn't going to turn into a fucking fight! We made a goddamn baby, and I don't fucking care if it's putting you in a shit mood because this is our bloody baby, Hermione Granger, and you are going to be happy about it if I have to use magic to put a smile on your face. Now put a _fucking _dress on and we're going to get Mediterranean food and figure this whole thing the fuck out and STOP FUCKING SWEARING!"

He whirls around, walks into the bathroom, and slams the door shut behind him.

(OOO)

Emotions have always surfaced quite naturally in Ron, but as he holds Hermione's hair for the billionth time, he makes a choice. He's going to choose what emotion to feel. He's going to be a master of his own fate. After all, they're _in _this. Forever. There's no point in ignoring it or even being upset about it.

He lifts Hermione up when she's done vomiting, gently setting her on the counter of their bathroom sink so that she can brush her teeth. Her knees still seem a bit wobbly, which is one of the reasons why he's chosen to lift her off of the floor, but that's not the only reason. He misses the closeness. He misses the way they used to lie awake and talk about everything. He misses snuggling on the couch and talking about nothing. He misses joking and fighting and a Hermione that looked at him like the sun was rising in his irises.

There's no point in leaving those times behind. Not when he loves her so tremendously.

When she's done brushing her teeth, Ron takes Hermione's chin in his hand, drawing her closer so that she can at him. She does so carefully, with tired, sad eyes. This isn't either of their fault, but Hermione is looking at him like it's a problem that is settled squarely on her shoulders.

He wants to fix her. He doesn't know how.

"You're my best friend," he says, his voice cracking. "Hermione, you're my favorite person. In the whole world. I want to have this baby with you."

She bites her lip, eyes already beginning to water.

"I love you," she whispers. "But… the last few weeks have felt… _impossible_."

He draws her close to him; when she inhales the scent of his jumper, he can feel her petite back moving up and down.

"Why?" he coaxes, rubbing her back. "Love, you know that I want this baby. You know that I want you."

It's the first endearment either of them have used in days. The line that she has drawn between them while she'd tried to figure this out had felt unapproachable to Ron. She's been a million miles away for days now. Hermione shakes her head at the word, her nose slipping back and forth against the blue wool. He wants to press 'love' into her, remind her that she is still _love _and she will always be _love_, wants to brand it onto her skin so she never forgets that someone loves her enough to kiss her scars every night before bed.

He can't do any of that if she continues to draw away from him.

"I want this baby too. But, this? This isn't how it was supposed to happen," she admits, voice small. "I feel-"

"Out of control," Ron says plainly. "I know. I know you."

When she finally removes herself from the warmth of his jumper, it is to stare into his eyes and try to hunt down the truth within them. Ron tries to pour it into her: how earnestly he loves her. How desperately he wants her to feel like it's okay.

"You really do," she says heavily. "I'm sorry. I've been… wrapping my brain around… this. What this is. What it means."

"It means what we always knew," Ron says. "It means we love each other-" he kisses her on the cheek- "It means we're going to be together forever-" he kisses the other cheek "And it means that we're officially a family. You, me, and tiny human."

"Tiny human?" Hermione questions laughingly, swiping an unshed tear from the corner of her eye.

"I'm also open to calling it _Placeholder, Walnut, _and _Slagathor Junior."_

Hermione moves a cold finger to Ron's nose, lightly counting the freckles there.

"You're really okay with this?"

She's concentrating hard on counting, so he keeps very still, just moving his lips as he answers, "Yes."

And for the first time in too long, a warm smile washes across the face of the mother of his child.

"Alright, Ronald Weasley. Let's do this."

(OOO)

"Naturally you're going to get married."

His mum says it off-hand, her fingers splayed around Hermione's slightly rounded belly. They hadn't told anyone, instead choosing to let them all think that Hermione had gained a few pounds, but his mum can sniff out a pregnancy faster than she can spot a common cold.

"Of course we are," Hermione says.

"Eventually," Ron adds agreeably.

"And it's going to be wonderful," Hermione adds. "A lovely wedding."

"When is this 'lovely' wedding going to be?"

"After the baby is born," Hermione says decisively. "I want to be able to look good in my dress."

Mum stares at her.

"Hermione, dear," she says in a sensible voice. "What exactly is the point of having a baby out of wedlock when you fully intend to get married anyways, and have for years?"

"Well, we don't want to get married just because Hermione's pregnant," Ron says, answering for her. "We think that it's important to focus this time on doing the things we need to do to prepare to become parents."

"And the things we need to do for our general wellbeing as people outside of the fact that we're going to be parents."

His mum is looking at them like they've got two heads. Each.

"And you think that there's going to be all of this _extra _time when you have the baby? Time to plan the wedding? And you think that your body is going to look as good in the dress as it did before? Things change, you two. It's not like you push a human being out of your womb and then life goes back to normal."

"We prefer tiny human," Hermione interjects.

Ron's mum throws her hands up in frustration.

"So you're not going to listen to any of what I'm saying?"

They both sort of shrug, purposefully ignoring what she's saying. Because thinking about that, and thinking about all the things that they're thinking about, and thinking about all the things that people have told them that they need to think about, is going to make them insane. Ron chooses not to become insane. He chooses life.

"I think it'll be okay," Ron says, kissing his mum on the cheek. She releases an exasperated _harrumph_. "And I think your pie is burning."

The glare that she gives him is unparallelled.

(OOO)

By the time Rose Weasley's piercing cries fill the delivery room, Ron is wondering if he's ever been this tired. Not only is it seriously emotionally draining to have to deal with 39 weeks of pregnancy, give or take, it is also rather difficult to stand in the delivery room and have the bones in his hand crushed to sawdust as Hermione pushes a baby out of her vagina.

When he repeats this sentiment to her, he thinks she's going to slap him. Her hand raises off of the bed and everything, but apparently she's too tired to lift it anymore, so she drops it back against the covers and narrows her eyes angrily at him as a Healer puts the baby in her arms.

Hermione's breathing picks up when she looks at their baby- or perhaps she's been breathing heavily the whole time. She traces the pink of Rose's lips, the chubbiness of her cheeks, and nearly bursts into tears upon realizing that their baby has red hair. While Rose continues to cry and simper, her mother joins in.

Ron chalks her tears up to exhaustion until he hears what she's saying.

"She's a Weasley," Hermione sobs. "And I… I'm _not_."

Oh.

It feels like someone has dumped a bucket of ice water onto his head as he sees the heartbroken, crumpled look on his love's face. Ron can't think of a time when he's seen her quite this distraught, and it shatters a part of him because maybe it's _his _fault. Maybe he hadn't pushed hard enough. Maybe he hadn't tried. Maybe he hadn't been stubborn enough.

"She can be a Granger if you want," Ron suggests. Anything. Anything to get that look off of her face. This is their daughter, and she's just been born, and all Ron wants to do is count her fingers and toes and comment on how utterly perfect their little baby girl is. Their tiny human.

"Oh, R-ron! Don't be silly."

"No, really!" he says, jumping up from the chair beside her bed. "I'll call that nurse back right now, and have her change the name on the birth certificate. We might have to wrestle it away from her, and break several magical laws, but it'll be worth it."

"That's ridiculous, Ron," Hermione chides, laughing through her tears.

He sits back down in his chair and picks up the washcloth that is resting in a bucket by her bed, using it to carefully wipe beads of sweat away from the top of her forehead.

"No more ridiculous than you thinking that you aren't a Weasley," he says softly. "Because you are a Weasley. You have been for years."

Something that resembles a sunrise washes across Hermione's a face as his words register with her; she sniffles away her last few tears and presses her lips to Rose's forehead, eyes still on Ron.

"Do you meant that?"

"Of course!" Ron says loudly, waving his hands energetically in the air. "Hermione, c'mon. You get Weasley sweaters. You live with a Weasley son. You're Ginny's best friend, and you're my best friend, and you're Harry's best friend, and we all count as Weasleys. You gave birth to a redheaded child about twenty-five minutes ago. You're a Weasley, through and through. Don't even try to pretend that you can escape us. You can't leave the hive."

Hermione laughs, her voice still weak from earlier.

"I just wanna go to sleep," she admits. "I want to be in our bed, falling asleep."

He considers. Then he gets out of his chair and walks around the bed, swinging his leg up onto it, then settling his back against Hermione's back. She groans slightly at the way the bed shifts, disrupting her sore bones. But Ron just slides an arm onto the pillow above her head and rests the other one on the baby's stomach.

"They're gonna take her soon," he whispers. "Are you ready to say goodnight?"

She shakes her head very slowly, but her broad yawn sends a conflicting message that makes Ron chuckle.

"Are you okay with not being married?" Hermione asks her pillow, but Ron hears and decides to take the question.

"Sometimes I'm not," he admits. "But there's gonna be time now that Rosie's here. You're gonna be on maternity leave for a bit, and we'll figure it out."

These are the same sentiments that they had told his mother when they first decided to not get married until after the baby was born, but Ron doesn't feel as strong in them anymore. He doesn't tell Hermione that, though, because she's finally falling asleep, and her breathing has slowed to match the pattern of his breathing.

"We'll figure it out," Hermione slurs.

Ron brushes some hair back from her forehead as her eyes slip shut.

"And when you think about it," he murmurs, "we're already pretty married anyways."

(OOO)

They have stencils that they use the answer questions these days. Words and phrases that they have to say in order to get through any conversation with a person that they don't see very often; things like "Not yet" and "We just haven't found the right time yet."

Because, seriously. They haven't found the right time yet.

It's not like they haven't done everything else in the universe together- they're in love, they have a baby, they own a home together, they are even the godparents to Harry and Ginny's kids. They couldn't possibly be more married. Except, of course, if they were actually married.

Time slips by far too quickly, and when Rose is a year and a half, they find themselves staring at a white stick with a plus sign on it, both of their faces bewildered.

"How did this happen a second time?" Ron wants to know, his eyes wide as he tries to read Hermione's expression. She just shakes her head wordlessly.

"We use the spell every single time we have sex," she adds, echoing his disbelief. "Seriously. This happened _twice_?"

"We don't even have that much time for sex anymore," Ron complains. "When did I even manage to knock you up?"

Hermione stares at the stick, her mouth slightly open.

"Maybe it's lying to us!" she suggests. "Maybe this is a trick. Has George started making fake pregnancy sticks at the shop? Is that what's going on? Did you accidentally bring one home from work?"

"Not even George is that cruel, sweetheart," Ron tells her. "I think you must be pregnant."

Hermione glares down at her ovaries.

"Can you just get your shit together?" she demands of them. "Good _Merlin_"

Ron falls back against their bed, his head accidentally smacking against the headboard. He grunts, but doesn't exclaim. It's happened too many times at this point, a curse of being tall.

"Right," he says. "A second baby. Two babies. Baby number two."

"And we're still not married," Hermione complains, lying back against her own pillow. "I've turned into my parents' worst nightmare."

"I think that their worst nightmare has a far less successful career than you do."

"We can get married," Ron says, turning to her. Their noses are almost touching as they look at each other.

"When?"

"Right now," Ron suggests. "That baby's asleep; we can just ditch her and run."

Hermione rolls her eyes.

"Don't be an arse, Ron. The ministry's closed at nine o'clock at night."

"Damn. You're right."

"We could still get married before the baby is born," Hermione says doubtfully. "I mean, before I get fat again. I'm not going to be pregnant in the wedding pictures. Besides, she'll think that we got married just because of her."

"Her?"

"I have a feeling, okay?"

"You're about five minutes into this pregnancy. How do you already have a feeling?"

"That's it. I'm not marrying you."

They're still laughing when the baby starts to cry. Hermione sighs heavily, taking a few moments before getting off of the bed.

"And this is why we don't have time to get married," she says as she leaves the room. "Rose would cry through the wedding. I'd probably have to change her diaper in my dress."

"Nonsense," Ron disagrees from where he's lying. "We'd make mum do it."

(OOO)

Hugo Weasley is 6 pounds and 18.5 inches.

He is born a bastard.

At this point, nobody cares about Ron and Hermione's marital status as much as they care about the fact that their union has given the world two beautiful children. Ron's mum holds onto Hugo, her eyes wide with love and adoration, and he is absolutely amazed that she can love each grandchild as much as she does. He doesn't know how she manages to scrounge up this much affection for everyone in her life, but she does.

And Harry is holding Rosie close; the girl's curly red hair springs up and down as he bounces his knees, causing her to fly into the air. Ginny holds onto James as Hermione holds onto Albus, and they're both just smiling as Ron and his dad look around at their family, both slightly in awe of what they're watching.

"You've made a good life," his dad says quietly. Everything he says is quiet, but that makes it all the more valuable.

Ron looks over at him.

"I know I have."

"I know," his dad admits. "I know. But I wanted you to hear it from my mouth, so that you know that, whatever choices you have made… they were right for you. And we're so proud of you. So proud of everything that you've done."

His dad doesn't usually express this much emotion, but that doesn't mean that Ron doesn't completely appreciate it. He claps a hand onto his father's shoulder, letting himself pay attention to the soft fabric instead of the emotion of the moment.

"Thank you," he says. "Seriously dad. I mean it."

His father smiles pleasantly.

"Are you going to let me hold that baby?" he wants to know, choosing not to continue their conversation.

"I think you'll have to pry him out of mum's cold, dead hands," Ron jokes, trying not to feel as happy as he does about this fact.

Everything is good right now. So good that Ron doesn't want to touch any of it for fear that it will fall apart, dissolving into millions of pieces that are the only pretty remnant of their pretty life together.

This is what they fought a war for. This is it. These children, and this house, and these people, and this relationship. This is why they survived. They've finally gotten to the place where they can see that everything- all of it- was worth it, no matter how pain it caused them.

They have two kids and an enormous family and there's so much noise _all of the time_; sometimes Ron can't hear even his own thoughts. And yet, he's never felt more at peace.

(OOO)

"Mummy, daddy! It's Sarah!"

Rose tugs Ron's arm even harder when she sees her friend. It's her second day of kindergarten, and she's already found a best friend. She's eager for the two of them to meet this 'Sarah,' which is why she's dragged them to school with her so that they can set up a playdate. When Ron sees Sarah and her mother, he gives the two of them a tentative smile, hoping that Rose's enthusiasm for the friendship will be received well.

He is not disappointed when Sarah lets out of squeal and rushes over to Rosie, her pretty dress kicking up around her knees in her effort to drag her mother's arm out of her socket. As soon as she reaches Rose, she lets go of her mother's hand and grab's Rose's instead.

"Want to go play with the dolls?" she asks eagerly, and Rose nods elatedly before the two of them run away without saying goodbye to their parents.

"Hi," says Sarah's mum, sticking her hand out. "I'm Liz. It's lovely to meet you."

Hermione takes her hand and shakes it. Liz looks tired, but she's smiling nonetheless. She's not wearing a ring, but Ron knows better than anyone else that it doesn't mean anything.

"I'm Hermione," says Hermione, smiling brightly. "I'm so glad that our girls have become such fast friends."

"Me as well!" Liz says, eyes widening to express her happiness. "I think it's wonderful. Oh, and this must be your husband?" she adds, directing her gaze towards Ron.

He and Hermione exchange about two seconds of wordless conversation before large smiles break out onto both of their faces.

"I am indeed," Ron says, pumping Liz's hand with a bit too much vigor. "Ron Weasley, at your service."

"Well, I hear that your daughter is delightful."

"Yes, my _wife _has raised her so well."

"Oh, sweetheart," Hermione says, placing a hand on his chest. "I couldn't have done it without my dear husband at my side."

On an intellectual level, he kind of knows that they're being weird. On an emotional level, he doesn't quite give a shit.

"Oh, Mrs. Weasley," he rolls his eyes, "you offer me far too much credit."

"I'm sorry, we're being so rude!" Hermione notes, turning back to Liz. She lowers her voice conspiratorially. "Well, you know how marriage is."

Liz's response is interrupted by their girls running back towards them.

"Mum, can we show you the dollhouse?" Sarah begs, latching onto her mother's arm and swinging from it.

"We actually have to go," Liz says gently, detaching her daughter only to kneel down and give her a kiss on the head. "It's almost time for school to begin."

"Okay," Sarah says, looking only a little bit downcast as she glances over at Rose, who is hugging Hermione goodbye. "Say goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, alright?"

"Goodbye Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," Sarah says solemnly.

Rose hugs Ron one more time before vanishing into a classroom.

"We must be going," Hermione says politely. "Work and all. Hopefully we'll be able to set up a playdate for our girls soon, though!"

"Sounds wonderful," Liz agrees, and they say their goodbyes quickly before ducking into a dark alley to apparate.

Hermione has Ron pressed against the wall as soon as he has landed safely in their house. Her lips seek his almost instantly, forgoing all propriety as her hand immediately slides from his hair, down his back, to his arse. He returns the favor, groaning into her mouth as her hands impatiently dance around his body and go to his belt buckle.

"Are we late for work?" Ron asks, voice hoarse, but Hermione just drops her head against the wall, not paying any mind to the dull thud of the collision because Ron is sucking on the skin at the side of her neck and his hands have become occupied elsewhere.

"No idea," Hermione sighs. "God, Ron. Say it again."

"Mmm. Say what?"

"You know," she moans, and even though he's pretty focused on what he's doing, he manages to figure out what she's saying.

"Hermione Weasley," he murmurs, voice low in her ear. She shivers as the words run through her, simpering slightly when he says it again. "Hermione _Weasley_. Mrs. Ronald Weasley."

"Oh _god_," Hermione groans.

They're lying on the living room floor when Ron finally finds the wherewithal to ask her the question.

"Hermione," he says, still slightly awed by their actions. "Do you think we have a marriage kink?"

She stares at him wordlessly. Then she begins to laugh.

(OOO)

They have to cut Hugo's food into the tiniest of pieces because he refuses to do it himself and he also refuses to eat pieces that are any bigger. With that in mind, dinner is always a big production, because then Rose feels left out that her food isn't being cut for her and she demands that they do it to her plate as well. Hermione says that they'll have to stop spoiling the kids at some point, but they haven't gotten there yet and sometimes Ron wonders if they ever will.

He likes feeling needed. And he likes what they've got going. And he likes-

The fork that Hermione is holding clatters onto Hugo's plate. He looks up, perplexed, but Hermione is just staring at Ron, her mouth slightly open.

"What are we waiting for?"

He raises one eyebrow at her.

"Heh?" he asks astutely.

"What in hell are we waiting for, Ron?"

Rose giggles at the word, but Ron ignores this.

"What are you talking about?"

"We should get _married_," Hermione says, her eyes sparkling. "Now. Today. Let's just get married. Let's just do it."

"Really?" his voice gets slightly higher in his surprise.

"Yes!" she says warmly. "God, I can get someone I work with to sign the papers and we can go _right now_ and have a big, fancy wedding later in life when we have more time, but right now… right now I just want to be married to you. Right now."

"Right now," Ron echoes, shocked.

"Get to kids' coats," Hermione instructs, shoving back her chair. "I'm going to floo Bellamy. She'll do it, I'm sure."

When she's back fifteen minutes later, the kids are bundled into their coats and looking at their father like he's crazed. He hasn't let them move from the door since they'd gotten there, too afraid that Hermione would get back and change her mind.

She hasn't. He can tell from the smile on her face.

They floo to the ministry because it's safer with the kids, and probably faster, too, even though they get soot on their clothes. Ron and Hermione rush ahead of the kids in the atrium, doubling back to pick them up so that they can run. At one point, Ron has Rose on his shoulders and Hermione's got Hugo's arms around her neck while he rides on her back and they're just smiling at each other, so caught up in their moment.

Bellamy has already arrived by the time they get there, totally out of breath and clutching their sides.

"We're not as young as we used to be," Ron manages to huff out. "Damn."

"Give us a moment," Hermione tells her co worker, smiling awkwardly as she doubles over to catch her breath. "Rose, Hugo, why don't you go inside and pick where you want to stand for the wedding."

They dash into the office, never passing up the chance to race each other.

"Are you ready for this?" Ron asks when Hermione has finally straightened herself out. She sideyes him, and he thinks that he can _hear _the sarcasm in her gaze before she says a word.

"No, I'm not sure I want to commit yet," Hermione deadpans. "Are you ready?"

"So fucking ready," he says. She laughs delightedly and moves forward to kiss him, dizzying him all over again.

"Okay," she says breathlessly, pulling away. But then she looks down and stares at their hands as they carefully entwine their fingers together. "Let's do this."

Ron grins at her impishly.

"Let's go start a life together."

**A/N: I'm not entirely certain that this doesn't suck, but thanks for getting to the end, if you bothered to! I needed something to break my Romione writer's block and I wanted to write a story that was short and quick to take the pressure off… whoops? Does 11.5k count as short and quick? No, probably not. Oh well. I liked this piece, though, and I hope you found some enjoyment in it! If you want, you can review with jokes about how long it's been since I've written Romione. I'll only cry a little bit! Oh, and shana tova! ~writergirl8**


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